


Being Brave

by Bookworm1121



Series: Queliot One Shots [6]
Category: The Magicians
Genre: Canon Divergent, Fix-It, Friendship, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Margo is a good friend, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, queliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:39:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookworm1121/pseuds/Bookworm1121
Summary: After Eliot initially rejected Quentin, he realizes his mistake, and he tries to fix it.





	Being Brave

Quentin chewed his lip, looking at Eliot. He couldn’t get their life together out of his head. Quentin remembered feeling happy, and he missed that feeling. He missed waking up next to Eliot every morning. He missed walking behind Eliot cooking, wrapping his arms around Eliot’s waist—kissing Eliot’s shoulder. He missed seeing Teddy and the grandchildren. Quentin missed the life they had.

Eliot looked up, noticing Quentin’s stare. Quentin quickly looked down, blushing faintly. Eliot sighed, looking back down at the paperwork. Quentin developed the habit of looking at Eliot when he thought Eliot wasn’t looking. Of course, Eliot noticed. Eliot’s heart yearned for Quentin, but his head convinced him the relationship was a bad idea.

“Why don’t you talk to him?” Margo asked, “You two are both pining idiots, and it’s sickening.”

Eliot shrugged, “It wouldn’t work between us.”

“Didn’t it work for fifty years?”

“Yeah, but there wasn’t quests, killing gods, and Alice.”

Margo rolled her eyes, “Baby, you have to realize by now he’s over her.”

“He’s still helping and concerned about her.”

“She’s his friend, and he’s trying to help her.”

“Well, what about the next time a girl with boobs comes around?”

“You trust him.”

“That worked well with Alice.”

Margo, pinching the bridge of her nose, groaned, “Eliot. C’mon.”

Eliot shrugged, “I’m not setting myself up for heartbreak.”

“So, you’d let him sit in heartbreak. You might not be able to tell, but he’s a mess.”

Eliot opened his mouth to defend himself, but he looked back at Quentin. Margo was right. Quentin’s hair was greasier than usual, and his clothes looked wrinkled. Dark circles carried under his eyes, and his cheeks were hallowed—too hallowed. Eliot stared mouth gaping and throat drying.

“Talk to him,” Margo said, standing up. She leaned over to Eliot, kissing his cheek, “He needs it, and I doubt he wants to vent to me again.”

“He vented to you?”

“He was drunk, and I caught him in the middle of the night. Scared the shit out of me to see him sitting there in the dark, but yeah. He gave me many drunken rambles. I’m not saying what he talked about, but talk to him.”

Eliot nodded, stiffly, “Okay.”

“Good.”

Margo walked past Quentin, patting his head. Quentin looked up at Margo, and he smiled at her. Margo smiled back and pulled his arm. Eliot assumed she was making Quentin shower. She had done the same thing to him multiple times. Quentin followed, hesitantly. 

Eliot sighed, running a hand through his hair. He needed to fix things between them. Before either of them did something they regretted.

. . .

Quentin sat in his room, reading A Clash of Kings. Margo became overwhelmingly excited when Quentin referred to the book series. They both began rereading the series. Margo kept it a secret she was reading the novels since she never vocalized her love for books, but they both were excited to share the experience. 

He didn’t hear Eliot knock or come into the room. He focused on his book, lost in the worlds of A Song of Fire and Ice and the characters the stories held. 

“How many times have I told you biting your lip is horrible for you,” Eliot said, leaning against the door frame.

“Old habits die hard.”

Eliot chuckled, walking to the edge of the bed, sitting on it, “Can we talk?” 

“About what?”

“You know what.”

Quentin glanced at Eliot, closing his book, “What’s there to talk about? You made it very clear we won’t work.”

Eliot winced, “Yeah. About that.”

“What about it?” Quentin asked. A glimmer of hope formed in Quentin’s eyes, hopeful Eliot would take back his rejection.

Eliot stared at Quentin, losing his courage, “I—I run. A lot. When I get scared, when I have doubts, I listen to them and take off running. I push people away. I reject people.”

Quentin stared, “Eliot, what are you saying?”

“I got scared when you asked me to continue our life together. I . . . ran.”

“So, you want me? You would choose me if given a choice?”

Eliot nodded, “Do you still want me?”

“Yes. I do. I want to grow old with you again.”

Eliot grinned, leaning over to cup Quentin’s cheeks, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay.”

Eliot kissed Quentin, stroking Quentin’s cheek. Quentin kissed Eliot back, pulling at Eliot’s jacket. Quentin leaned back, and Eliot followed him on the bed. Eliot hovered Quentin, deepening the kiss. Everything spun for Quentin. His heart raced as Eliot kissed him. Eliot’s leg rubbed against Quentin, drawing whimpers from Quentin’s lips. Eliot began unbuttoning Quentin’s shirt.

However, reality hit Quentin, and he became curious. Why did Eliot suddenly get the courage? Quentin pulled from the kiss, stopping Eliot’s hands. Eliot looked at him, raising an eyebrow. Quentin took a deep breath, “What made you get the courage?”

“Margo talked to me.”

Fuck, Quentin cursed. Anxieties grew inside Quentin, and he sat up, moving away from Eliot. Eliot stared at him, confused. Quentin’s mind ran, tripping over his thoughts. He hadn’t even realized he began speaking, until his rambles.

“Sorry I spilled to her. I didn’t have Julia, and she’s who I go to when I need the support, you know. Because she’s Jules. But she’s not here, and I got drunk. Really drunk. And I just told her—everything. I made her pr—”

Eliot silenced Quentin by grabbing Quentin’s hand, kissing them. Quentin stared at Eliot, eyes wide, “Q, I don’t care what you told her.”

Quentin nodded, “Really?”

Eliot nodded, “You know holding in those feelings never treats you well.”

Quentin sighed, smiling sadly, “You aren’t just doing this because you feel bad, right? Like Margo threatened you or something.”

“I’m going this because I want to. Sure, Bambi saying something was a bit scary, but you know she can’t make me so something.”

Quentin bit his lip, nodding, “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Quentin smiled, grabbing the book off his bed. He placed it on the nightstand next to his bed. Eliot, chuckling at the title, looked at Quentin, “Is that how you and Bambi got close? You both read those lengthy books?”

“Hey! They are really good! There’s a lot of characters, but they still are amazing. Though we are still waiting for the next books. It’s been seven years, and still nothing. When it does come out though, I’m surprising Margo by buying it for her. She said she tried getting you to read them.”

Eliot laughed at Quentin’s fanboy rant, “I love your rants about books.”

Quentin blushed, “Shut up.”

“Honestly, it’s such a turn on,” Eliot said, leaning in closure to Quentin. Eliot’s lips hovered over Quentin’s. Eliot and Quentin both felt each other’s hot breath against them, and Quentin swallowed. Quentin looked at Eliot, biting his lip—purposely seductively. Eliot kissed Quentin, cupping the back of Quentin’s neck. They fell back on the bed, laughing lightly. 

. . .

Quentin watched as Julia walked with The Monster. He knew they needed to send it back, but he didn’t want to say. The Monster’s body shifted, stumbling over himself.

“Q,” The monster said, a smile forming on his lips, “Q,” he repeated, laughing lightly, “It’s me, Eliot.”

Quentin fought the urge to roll his eyes. This was typical of him, playing games, “Okay, no games. C’mon, let’s just go.”

“It’s Eliot.”

“No, bullshit, come on.”

“Fifty years, who gets prove of concept like that?”

The Monster—Eliot walked close to Quentin, his eyes forming tears in them. He needed Quentin to remember, and he needed to get his message out to him.

Quentin looked at Eliot, eyes widening, “What?”

“Peaches and plums, mother fucker,” Eliot said, hitting Quentin’s shoulder, “I’m alive in here.”

Quentin formed tears in his eyes. Eliot was alive—The Monster lied, “Eliot,” Quentin’s voice cracked at the name. Eliot’s body began shifting again, and Quentin noticed Alice coming closure, “Woah, no,” he mumbled, shoving Eliot away, feeling the blood hit his back.

Within seconds Eliot was gone, leaving them alone. Quentin’s heart swelled, a new feeling of hope consuming him. Eliot was alive, and Quentin would not stop fighting to bring him back.


End file.
